


Even the Rain

by dreamlittleyo



Series: This Hard Land 'Verse [3]
Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Death References, F/M, Friendship, Post-Serenity, Wordcount: 100-1.000, Wordcount: 100-2.000, Wordcount: 100-500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-08
Updated: 2011-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Even the Rain

"His name was Wash," says Zoë.

For a grainy, uncomfortable moment, Jo has no idea how to respond.

The bridge is otherwise empty, dim and silent, and up until a moment ago Jo had thought she had the view ports and the stars to herself. She's holding one of the ever-present plastic dinosaurs in her hands—stegosaurus, if she remembers her Mesozoic era correctly.

She's not playing with it. Just looking. Wondering for the billionth time about the cryptic sadness that keeps Serenity's crew constantly picking the toys off the deck and setting them so carefully back on the console.

Even Jayne.

They all do it, with the solemnity of ritual, but no one has ever told Jo _why_. She's picked up the habit herself by now, but she's never found the courage to ask for an explanation.

Now she has her first real hint: his name was Wash. It's somewhere to start, although Zoë cuts an intimidating figure, standing to the left of the main console with her eyes front and center. She looks like she's trapped in her own separate world. But Jo's pretty sure the woman wouldn't have spoken in the first place if she weren't interested in saying more.

"Tell me about him?" she asks softly, still somehow surprised at the fact that she manages to voice the question aloud.

The silence lingers long enough to leave her wondering if she misgauged. But Zoë finally shifts beside her, then sits in a slow, fluid motion—right there in the center of the bridge, on the floor between the consoles with her knees tucked up to her chest.

"He was a good man," she murmurs, so softly that even in the midnight quiet Jo struggles to hear her. "Good like they don't make 'em anymore. He was honest and stubborn and really knew what mattered." She trails off for a moment, lost in her own head or maybe just gathering her thoughts. "He saw the universe for what it really was—all the darkness and hate and despair—but somehow he still knew how to smile. Before him, I didn't even know that was possible."

"He sounds wonderful," says Jo. Her chest feels tight and a little bit hollow. She knows Zoë well enough, albeit from a distance, to know the woman's not one for warm words or exaggerated praise. The man she's describing now is one Jo wishes she could have known.

"Yeah," says Zoë. "Wonderful. Just for a start."

"He was your pilot?" Jo asks. ' _He was yours_?' is what she really wants to say.

But Zoë must hear the question within the question, because she nods and says, "He was mine."

Jo tries to respond, but her voice chokes away on her first attempt. The information is too much, the offered memories more than she feels worthy of accepting.

Finally, in a voice gone rough, she manages to say, "I'm sorry. I wish I could have met him."

Zoë finally meets her eyes, a sad smile shaping her features. "So do I," she says.

Jo tilts her head in unspoken acknowledgment, and both of them go back to watching the stars.


End file.
